Chapter 51

51

Ella

Mercifully, my stepmother didn't disturb me, and I slept through the day and next night, waking at dawn at the crow of a rooster. I pulled the pillow over my head. I miss the castle bells.

And I missed him.

I went through the morning routines in a daze. My old chores felt like an echo from a dream. I even mucked the stables, which Tarran seemed to have neglected. This time, I didn't ask the birds for help. The few stalls in our barn were nothing compared to the work I'd grown used to, and I'd wanted to sweat and lose myself in the work. I wanted to forget that tonight was the ball and that soon Cassius would select his new bride. Perhaps in another month, there'd be a wedding, and he'd be lost to me forever.

I threw the pitchfork against the wall. Who was I kidding? I'd already lost him. Hell, I'd never truly had him, had I?

Except for a moment.

Stepping outside, I closed my eyes and let my head fall back. "Could I have had at least one more night like that?"

I didn't want to spend my life as another man's mistress, yet I couldn't deny the fact that his presence had made me feel bold and powerful and alive in a way I'd never felt before—different even than when I'd used my magic.

The noon sunlight warmed my face and skin, and I imagined it was his touch, his kisses brushing along my neck. I traced my fingers over the fading scars there and the memories they carried.

"Ella!"

My eyes shot open as my stepmother burst out onto the porch. "Why in the name of the gods are you standing about and staring at the sky? I've been calling your name. We have visitors."

Could it be him? My heart leapt at the ridiculous thought.

I splashed some water on my face and hurried up the stairs and through the back door as my stepmother shook her head. The butcher and seamstress were waiting in my stepmother's study, my notes and plans scattered about on the desk and side table, and I tried not to reveal my disappointment.

"We've been looking over your work," the seamstress said. "It's incredibly detailed."

The butcher nodded in agreement. "We're very impressed. It was a damn shame you were let go."

I stood in the doorway, knotting my hands. "Not my intention. I got unlucky."

The seamstress raised her eyebrows. "We heard that…well, that you had dealings with the prince."

My cheeks heated. "I took care of his horses and his chambers." I touched the marks on my neck. "And of course, there was also this."

The butcher's face reddened with anger, and the seamstress shook her head sympathetically. "I'm so sorry you were subjected to that. I pray that one day, no one will ever have to pay their blood tithe again."

What could I say to that? That I'd do it again in a heartbeat? That I couldn't stop thinking about his kiss and his bite and the delicious ways that he'd touched me? They'd label me a traitor for sure. Instead, I shifted and said, "I knew the risks going in."

My stepmother crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall. "I'm sure Ella doesn't appreciate reliving the humiliation of the past, and neither do I, so let's get on with this."

The butcher stood. "Our plan was to have you inside the castle tonight, but considering the wealth of information you've discovered, it may be lucky we have you here." He pulled the maps out. "It will be very helpful if you could clarify some details for us."

A sick feeling threaded through me. "What plan?" I asked.

"We're breaking in. The masquerade ball is a perfect cover, as there will be many unfamiliar servants and people. Everyone will be too busy to notice a few extras."

My mind began to race. Breaking in would be insanely risky. "They make all the humans in the castle carry tokens, some kind of magical pass. You can't get through the gates without them."

"We know, which is why we've already procured four for our team."

The hair on my neck stood as a deep unease spread down my spine. "How?"

He shrugged. "Their owners were detained early this morning. With any luck, they won't be missed until this is all over."

The resistance had abducted some of the castle's servants? My thoughts flew to Cara and Katherine.

"Until what is all over?" I pressed.

A grin broke across the butcher's face. "We're going to give the bloodsuckers a night to remember."

"You're going to attack?" Fear constricted my throat, and my voice came out strained. "With only four people?"

The butcher's grin broadened.

"This is none of your business," my stepmother interrupted. "You're to answer questions, not to ask them."

I ignored her, shaking my head. "If you think you can attack the castle from within, you're insane . There will be more immortals present than ever."

"More witnesses," he said with the supreme confidence of the uninformed. "We'll show them that humans will not bow forever—a lesson that won't be forgotten."

"We appreciate your expertise and instinct for caution," the seamstress added. "But trust me, we have thought this through long and hard. It's been months in the planning. We just need you to confirm the movements of the guards and the layout of the servants' passages. You've already provided us with more information than we'd thought we'd have."

My breath quickened. Whatever they were planning was suicide, and everyone the plan touched would bear the cost. The servants they'd taken the tokens from were as good as dead, as was anyone who entered the castle under pretext. "Even if your men can get in, they won't be able to smuggle weapons through the gates. Everyone who isn't an immortal is searched, including the staff."

The butcher patted his pocket confidently. "There are plenty of weapons in the armory, and you gave us the key."

The key I retrieved from the garden.

I shook my head as anxiety made my skin itch. "No matter how many men you send or how well armed they are, they won't last a second in there. Trust me . The immortals are five times as strong as any human and unimaginably fast. The moment blood is spilled, they will tear your men apart. It's suicide."

"Of course it is," the seamstress said, her face suddenly pinched hard in anger. "Our operatives have chosen to give their lives to make a difference rather than spend the rest of their days bowing and scraping beneath the heels of tyrants. It's the choice we all made when we swore on the book."

My thoughts flashed to my interrogation with Horace. "But it's not just them," I said. "They have ways of making you speak. If even one of your operatives is caught, they'll expose you and the entire resistance. Is that really worth killing a handful of immortals—if you even get that lucky?"

"Not a handful of immortals," the butcher said, his eyes glinting with a malicious light. "Just one—and his death will shake this kingdom to its core."

The room swayed as everything came into sickening focus. "You're going to kill the prince," I whispered, unable to repress my horror.

The butcher rocked back on his heals, clearly proud of himself. "We're sending a message to the immortals that will never be forgotten: rule at your own peril ."

My stomach tumbled as the truth sank in. I'd made this possible. All the information I'd delivered. Every task my stepmother had given me, from sending the key to making maps. It had all been leading to the assassination of the prince—the man I'd come to know and care for. The man who'd shown me kindness like no other immortal had. He wasn't the villain they thought he was—that I'd once assumed he was.

My stepmother's face flushed with concern. "We shouldn't be telling her this. She doesn't need to know the details."

I looked from one to the other as panic churned through me. "Don't try this."

The butcher ignored me, turning to my stepmother. "I thought she was a soldier, Lucille. Is she going to be a problem?"

"No, she won't. This conversation is over. We have enough to go on."

My stepmother grabbed my arm, aiming to tow me out the room, but I pulled away. "Killing the prince isn't the solution. There are so many worse than him—immortals who actually deserve to die. It won't solve anything."

My stepmother spun on me, but the butcher held out his hand to forestall her and approached me slowly, suspicion burning in his eyes. "Why, exactly, are you so adamant about this?"

I knew what he was thinking, but I couldn't back down. Things would have been simple if I could have told them about the Triad or their curse on the woods and the power they wielded over the immortals—but I couldn't because of Horace's spell. I had to find another way to change their minds, and fast. Otherwise, they'd find out themselves the hard way.

"The prince isn't the problem. I've seen how the court works, and he'll only be replaced by someone worse—someone far worse. Killing him will tear this kingdom apart, and all of us with it."

The butcher's expression darkened. "Will it? Or do you have another stake in this? Have you turned on us, Ella?"

"Of course not! I'm trying to stop you from making a foolish mistake. There's a power?—"

My voice strangled as Horace's spell wrapped around my throat, an invisible vise cutting off the words I so desperately needed to speak. The harder I fought against it, the tighter it drew, and I bent double, choking and gasping.

Panic flashed across my stepmother's face. "What's the matter with you?"

"Magic," I gritted through my teeth, though even that word scorched my throat.

"She's been compelled to silence," the butcher said, his voice ringing with awe. "The prince must have made her his thrall after he took her blood, and he's forbidden her to speak."

I shook my head, but the seamstress rose, her face pale. "That's why she doesn't want us to kill him."

I wrenched myself free of my stepmother's grasp and backed away from them. I couldn't tell them about the Triad, but I could tell the truth about him. "I'm not the prince's thrall, but I've seen the truth behind the throne. He's a good man at his core, and he knows that what the immortals are doing is wrong?—"

"Listen to her!" the butcher growled as he glared at my stepmother. "What more proof do you need than that? She's a thrall, and she's probably told him all about us and our plans."

Her expression melted into dread. "Is it true? Did you reveal us to the prince?"

My back bumped against the wall. "No! I'm not his thrall, and I'd never betray the resistance. I didn't even know about the assassination until you told me just now!"

Her judging gaze pinned me in place, boring into me as if it could peel away the layers of my skin, one by one. I raised my chin, defying her to doubt my word.

After three eternal breaths, her lips turned down. "She speaks the truth. I can always tell when she's lying."

The butcher put his hand on my stepmother's shoulder. "Lying or not, it doesn't matter. We can't trust her anymore. She's clearly under his influence."

My neck flushed with anger. "How does telling the truth not matter?"

"Because you've shown us where your true allegiance lies: with the immortals and with him . You've betrayed your vows to us ." The butcher's expression took on an ominous cast. Suddenly, he was no longer the friendly man from the market. He was a man willing to die for his cause—and to kill for it.

He stepped forward, but before I could bolt, my stepmother moved between us, her arms wide like a mother goose protecting her young. "You'll not harm her. She may be a foolish girl and blind, but she's served us well. Better than any operative ever has."

He loomed over her. "Whatever service she's provided, she's no longer on our side. She'll betray us if we give her the chance."

My stepmother didn't waver. "Then we'll lock her away until this is over."

He released a bitter laugh. "Once this is over, the chances are that we'll all be dead—you, me, and her. It's better?—"

"No," my stepmother growled with a ferocity I'd never witnessed from her.

The butcher's jaw set. "Fine. We'll lock her up."

The hell they would.

I threw myself past my stepmother's outstretched arms and rushed toward the kitchen door. The brute shoved her out of the way and was on top of me in a second. We crashed through the door and into the side of the kitchen counter. Pain burst through my side.

"Let go of her!" my stepmother shouted as she rushed in.

I clawed at the butcher, but he just grunted and pulled one of my hands behind my back. "She ran! She was going to warn them!"

With a shout, I raked my heel down his shin, and when he tried to cover my mouth with his hand, I bit down hard. Blood trickled across my lips, and he bellowed in rage, but his grip only tightened.

Then the seamstress was there, restraining my arms and helping him pin me against the wall. "Help us, Lucille! Your daughter is out of control!"

"Stop fighting, Ella!" my stepmother shouted. "I won't let them hurt you."

It wasn't me I was worried about. I twisted to face her, restrained by their hands. "If you kill the prince, they'll find out the truth. They'll massacre everyone in the resistance! Maybe everyone in the village! They'll kill Belle!"

My stepmother's eyes flickered with a moment of doubt, and then… then it was gone. Her features turned to iron, burying the sadness I'd seen there. "That's the risk—but we aren't doing this for ourselves. We're doing it for the generations to come. We can give them hope—that the immortals can be defeated. All of us might die, but the resistance will rise again, stronger than ever."

"No," I said, spitting a bit of the butcher's blood. "It will be stamped out forever."

"That's enough!" The seamstress shoved a wadded kitchen rag in my mouth. "Help us, Lucille!"

I roared at my stepmother through the gag, and tears broke from her eyes. "I'm sorry, Ella. This is for the best."

My heart shattered. I kicked and struggled, but I couldn't hold all three of them off. They bound my wrists, then hauled me out the back door, fighting like a wild horse.

"Gently!" my stepmother implored as they manhandled me down the cellar stairs—as if that would do anything to make up for her betrayal.

The butcher shoved me hard, and I stumbled forward and toppled onto the dusty cellar floor. My skull cracked against the cobbles, and my shoulder strained as I rolled to the side, my vision swimming.

My stepmother was a blurred silhouette against the light streaming down the stairs. "I'm sorry, Ella, but we can't have you endangering yourself or this operation."

"Let's go." The butcher wiped his hands on his trousers. "We've got more important things to deal with than a blood traitor."

"She's not," my stepmother snapped. "She's afraid and lost her way."

He clomped up the stairs with the seamstress. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Lucille. This is on you."

My stomach twisted. Did he really think that I was a traitor to my kind? I was trying to save them and Belle and everything they'd fought for. They were going to throw it all away, and along with it, perhaps kill the one person with the power to change things.

I bit down on the gag as my heart hardened with a certainty I'd never known. The prince was different than all the others. He would help if he could. If he were free of the Triad. If he could learn to see our worth.

He'd seen mine.

My stepmother lingered. I summoned every drop of resentment and bitterness I could, concentrating it in my glare. She was the only traitor here.

She walked downstairs and knelt beside me. "This is the best shot we've had in decades. Killing an immortal or two would do nothing, but killing the prince will show everyone that the kingdom itself can be defeated. That's why it must be during the ball—there will be too many witnesses to cover it up. We'll claim credit for the resistance immediately after. It will give the people hope like they've never had."

And then the immortals would kill us all.

"Belle!" I screamed in outrage through the gag. " Belle !"

She stiffened, and I knew she could understand the muffled word. She wiped her eyes. "We all swore on the book to give our lives for the resistance. I doubt any of us are going to survive the night, but what we've done will live on. It will be passed down to the next generation, and our people will rise again."

I kicked and squirmed, trying to loosen the gag.

There'd be no next generation. We'd relive the massacre on the ceiling of the great hall, but this time, there would be no end. Not until every soul in the village was dead.

My stepmother retreated to the cellar stairs and glanced back at me. "This is just the beginning. You'll see."

Then she left. The thick doors shut, blocking out the light. A lock clicked, and then there was the sound of something heavy being dragged across the wood.

I screamed into the gag.

It wasn't the beginning of anything. It would be the end.